Day 6: Hikings and Vikings

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

After securing some good coffee in town and mailing out fragile gifts, the short drive around the bay was made to the Visitors Center at Apostle IslandsNational Lakeshore. The weather was picture perfect.

Named to honor the 12 Apostles (even though there are 20 islands – if someone can figure that one out, let me know), access to the islands was largely shut off.  The season had not really started as we were a tad early.  There were no boats heading out. 

So what. Natalie and I found ourselves poking around the old Hokenson Fishing Operation. Eskel, Leo and Roy Hokenson ran a multi-faceted operation for decades. Farming and fishing were very lucrative for them until they retired in the 1960s.  It seemed only perfect that Natalie and I would see a Kingfisher while investigating their dock.

After a quick lunch, the four-mile hike along the shoreline trail was awesome, though muddy in spots.  At the turn-around point, the view of the sea caves below was quite mesmerizing.  The scene was very much like Pictured Rocks from a few days before.  The birding was quite nice. Crippling views were had of a Canada Warbler.  Natalie secured Yellow-bellied Flycather with just about the best view one could ask for short of going Aubudon on it and shooting it dead. 

Sadly, this trail marks a huge negative on our trip and my life.  My boots.  Oh, my precious boots. 

In Arizona last June, while hiking Mount Lemmon, the heel of my boot basically peeled off like the skin of a banana.  Multiple trips to a cobbler (yes, folks, they still exist) in the last year allowed me to get everything squared away.  Both boots, in fact. It was not re-soled, but re-affixed.  Everything was a go. 

During the final stretch of the hike, the heel gave out one final time.  It just couldn’t take it anymore.  My boots, my hiking partner for the last 15+ years, could hike no more. Alaskan tundra.  Alpine tundra of Colorado.  Pacific beaches. Atlantic beaches.  The Rio Grande Valley of Texas.  Battlefields.  Breweries.  Those boots have seen the country. The entire country.   Well almost – 44 states (and four provinces of Canada).

Sure, I could have just chucked them in the garbage, but that would be disrespectful.  I could take them home and put them on a display shelf, but that would dishonor the spirit of the boot.  (Hey, my boots can have a spirit, even if I’m atheist. Come on, work with me here.  Remember, Manabezho, the spirit-god, supposedly talked to his pooper…)

Influenced by Viking tradition and sadly lacking a raft that could be set alight and sent drifting into Lake Superior, I did the next best thing. Picking giant rocks from the parking lot culvert, I secured the rocks inside each boot and tied them together with the laces.  The photo below is essentially the last known image of my boots before I tossed them into Lake Superior with a mighty heave.

I’m so gonna miss those boots.  Seriously.  This sucks….

With heavy heart, we pressed on to Solon Springs, Wisconsin for camping. A quick, camp meal and we were out looking for birds with the final minutes of daylight.

Using “Wisconsin’sFavorite Birding Haunts” as a guide, we opted for some time in Douglas County along and near the Brule River (thus the camping in Solon Springs).  The evening was, in a sense, scouting for the following day’s birding adventure. 

Towhees, Wild Turkey, and Clay-colored Sparrows seemed to be quite common.  Common Nighthawks are always cool, too.  A mostly bug free evening ended peacefully back at camp. Just out of town, a mystery owl shot in front of us as we drove. Great Horned? Barred?  We’ll never know.  (I suspect we could just lie and say what we wanted it to be. Neither Nat or I are that lame.)

Day 5: Falls, Frogs And Food

Monday, June 17, 2013

With the overnight rain easing up in the morning, we hustled to break down camp and make fresh coffee.  The plan was to have a nice cup ‘o mud with breakfast while viewing Lake-In-The-Clouds (again). Sadly, the weather created Clouds-Over- Lake-In-The-Clouds; the whole area filled up like a bowl of white soup .

With rain setting in again (it was a short respite), we geared up nonetheless for a hike to the Nonesuch Mine. Tucked away in the corner of the park, the mine ran five different times under five different companies.  The region around the mine became a little town of 300 people or so.  By 1912, the operation had been abandoned permanently.  Frustratingly for me, with the rain, photography was not going to happen. What a drag. The old, stone foundations (some at least 15 feet tall) still stand. With the lush green plants and mosses, the whole place was like a trip to Middle Earth. Nat and I were almost waiting to see Gandalf walk by. Or perhaps an evil orc. Um, I mean an evil orc.

Birding on this trail could have been nice, but the rain kept things quiet.  A Scarlet Tanager and Mourning Warbler were the best birds.  A Pileated Woodpecker flew overhead.

A pleasant hike along the Beaver Creek Trail was followed by at least two hours of dinkin’ around at the mouth of the Presque Ile River.  If you like waterfalls, this place is a must.  Mandido Falls (I now have forgotten the name origin)and Manabezho Falls (named after the Native American spirit-god  who once had a conversation with his own anus (I’m serious)) are both easily accessible.  Bring a camera. Bring a tripod. Have fun. Forget the birding.  It was too loud.

Speaking of fun, the American Toads were loving this place.  You could hear them calling and, in the various locations, depressions in the layered shale had filled with water.  Voila.  Instant breeding pond.  In other spots, one could easily see where baby toads come from. This image has been edited so that individuals under the age of 21 won’t learn anything. 

While an entire day could be spent here alone investigating every nook and cranny, it was time to press on. Hard as it was, we made our way west along Route-2 into Wisconsin.  Domestic Diva Natalie crocheted a hat as we went (she forgot to pack one).  Lodging was secured at a hotel in the town of Ashland.

Dinner was at one of those peculiar little places.  Take a building and section it out into three rooms.  The left room is the low-key eating room. Let’s call it The Alley. The right room is the food-snob eatery. Let’s call that The Grille.  The brewery that connects the two in the middle is the South Shore Brewery. 

We’re not knockin’ this place.  It is just that the physical layout was a bit odd. In any case, the pizza was outstanding. The beer was good, too.  Bavarian Wheat, Nut Brown Ale, Honey Double Maibock, ESB and Rhodes Scholar Stout (#1455-1459). My notes suggest the Maibock was the best of the five, but not by much.  No major whining here, but no earth-shattering stuff.  The beers?  “3’s” across the board. In any case, a fine meal. 

Day 4: A “B” Day All Around

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Despite being the size of a golfball, the Winter Wren really has an amazing song.  It seems to just go on forever…kinda like alarm clocks, but much more pleasant to wake to….

Breakfast was on the lakeshore with morning hiking in the Lake Bailey Aububon Preservejust east of Eagle Harbor.  With hopes of showing Nat a Pink Lady’s Slipper, the cedar swamp was just the place. Not a slipper to be had, but we tried. More Starflower, in addition to 3-leavedSoloman’s Seal and Canada Mayflower made the walk pretty fun.  Birds? Yeah, more of the same. Black-throatedGreens especially.   In any case the hiking was quite neat. 

Departing the Keweenaw, our route had us in the western Upper Peninsula by lunch time. After saving a Wood Turtle from becoming a speed bump and purchasing a new addition to my ever-expanding collections of locally crafted coffee mugs, it was time for me to try a pasty.  (Note: I may have had a pasty during my Boy Scout days a few years back. Okay, decades back.  Honestly, I can’t recall if I did or not…)

Now…um, stop it.  A pasty and a pasty are not the same.  A pasty (the one I had for lunch) is pronounced “PASS-tee” and consists of meat, potatoes, rutabaga, onions and spices in a baked pastry roll-type thing.  They apparently became very popular in the region with the influx of mining immigrants.  Smothered in gravy (some prefer ketchup), it makes a fine lunch. I’ll have one again for sure somewhere.

 A “PAY-stee”, on the other hand, is……different.  Let’s leave it at that. 

Okay, let’s not.

There.   

Now, we’re done.

Porcupine Mountains State Park is basically a must.  Sure, it took me 42 years to get there, but I’m glad I did. Nat has been there before. As you can figure, because she came back, it must be worth it, right?  The park has it all – history, flowers, birds, insects.  It’s a naturalist’s/historian’s dream.

After securing camp, all visitors are required by act of Congress to view Lake-in-the-clouds.  Okay, no you don’t have to see it, but you’re a dope if you pass it up.  You certainly can’t claim that the hike is bad. It’s paved and can be measured in feet.  The view is breathtaking.

Don’t thank the glaciers for this view. Everybody is Michigan wants to think the glaciers carved out the lakes and made the state what it is. No.  Over one billion years ago (this guy was just voted into office), a large seam ran from what is now Kansas to the UP. Lava and such would bubble up and ooze out from this rift.  Over time, after various stone depositions, the entire basin collapsed under its own weight. The basin became Lake Superior (see….no glacier action) while the edges of the basin became features we know today as the Keweenaw Peninsula and Isle Royale.  Lake-In-The-Clouds is nestled along one edge of the basin between two ridges.  It is one mile long and considered one of the premier views in Michigan.  Having a Bald Eagle diddle by really set the stage for us.  Quintessential Michigan!

A pleasant drive to Summit Peak was in order, as well. The grand view of the park from the Tower (over 50 feet tall) placed on a ridge was short-lived as a storm was rolling.  (I don’t claim to be the brightest bulb in the box, but standing on a giant tower in a thunderstorm is not smart.)

After showers (both the weather and hygiene kind) dinner on the lake shore was in order.  Why the lakeshore? The open air, and therefore the lake breeze, should have been enough to knock down the black flies.

Oh yes, the black flies.  Only a few millimeters long, these little bastards have plagued boreal travelers since people first set foot there.  Do they buzz and poke like mosquitoes? No. Like stealth helicopters in Pakistan, they sneak in.  When they find the right spot, they cut you open with their little switchblade mouthparts and lap up the blood.  Anti-clotting agents allow it to flow freely.  You have no idea it has happened until they are gone and you notice that drop of crimson on your arm or leg.  Itching to the point of insanity can ensue, but we didn’t seem to be bothered by that part. We got the welts.  Yum.

That said, it is worth noting that black flies are not the kings of the air. (I should say queens. Only the females bite.  The males eat pollen.) These guys rule the skies….

With a head basically covered in eyes and flight skills that make modern aeronautical engineers drool, dragonflies can snatch black flies and skeeters with ease. Forget about sharks and hawks being good predators.  Most of time, they actually miss their prey.  Dragonflies? Most of the time, they nail it.  Sadly, there just doesn’t seem to be enough dragons to go around.

Of course, the breeze would have been enough, but shortly after setting up dinner, the breeze died to nothing.  Within microseconds, the swarms were upon us.  Hoping to prevent our Chicken and Rice from becoming Chicken a la Black Fly, we ate dinner in the car while watching the storm move out over the lake.  A steady rain settled in. After a round of drinks (no special beers) and munchies in Silver City, we went back to camp for the night.

Yeah, this was a “B” day all around – birds, boulders, bugs, botanicals, beer, and baked goods to name just a few.  I suspect I could keep going….